


Finishing line.

by nylie



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Manga Spoilers, Spoilers, chapter 199, considers the events of 199
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 06:03:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6411901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nylie/pseuds/nylie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(<b>spoilers  for 199 inside.</b></p>
<p>The last ball falls on Nohebi’s side. And like it began ―the whistle on the referee’s lips, a clear sound― the game ends with Kuroo still and unmoving on the court.<br/><i>or basically, post match kuroyaku to deal with 199</i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finishing line.

**Author's Note:**

> So, 199 left me with lots of feelings for Yaku and somehow that developed into kuroyaku feels (which @frozenyogurt has all the blame for) and I'm very sad with how small is their tag so here I am.  
> This is very short but very self indulgent in my need to write these boys, so in any case, it fast forwards to the end of the game and deals with well, 199 events in a way. 
> 
>    
> Special special thanks to @kenmasan (tumblr) for giving it a quick check, like seriously, THANK YOU.  
> Any remaining mistakes are all mine!

 

 

The scream burns down Kuroo’s throat, like acid dripping inside until there’s nothing left but a lack of sound. He makes exactly none. There is enough noise around him to fill the entire stadium, lift it up into the sky like soap bubbles and reach outer space. And yet. It grounds him, weighting on his sore legs and his uneven breaths.

His eyes dart everywhere, looking at everything and nothing at the same time. In just a second, he sees nothing, and then, _Kenma_. His best friend is blinking back at him, a nod and a small smile gracing his lips ―warm like summer and familiar and elated, like a scream on his own. It’s soothing and Kuroo breathes once, twice, until he can look away with new porpoise.

His feet move before his mind does. Broad steps do not break into a jog, not out of anxiety but rather a sense of self-preservation. Nekoma’s bench is crowded and far and Kuroo’s legs feel abnormally short; slow and clumsy under his command. But he does move forward and into the mass of red that is the rest of the team. Lev has beaten him to it―to _him_ , he corrects himself. His mind is not thinking straight―but that’s unsurprising. The beating of his own heart is deafening in his ears and his eyes keep searching down―lower than usual too. He takes note not to repeat that thought aloud.

Yaku finds him before he can, sitting on the floor at the side of the bench, eyes searching, blinding in tears. None of pain, Kuroo notes and breathes again. Once, twice, like water flowing in his veins. Lev is hovering over him, all smiles and words and Kuroo listens to none of them. He doesn’t think Yaku does either. Neither make the kid shut up, they tune it out―mildly, like the scream that still rests in the back of Kuroo’s throat.

“We won,” he says. The words croak in his mouth, half a whisper half a shout that he can’t contain anymore. He spares a glance up; Nekomata smiles at him, nods in recognition and looks away.

“You did.” _Wrong,_ the words scream in his head― a high pitch alert over the roar of the stadium.

“ _We_ won.”

Yaku chuckles, avoids his gaze and focuses on his leg, his ankle, spread long on the floor. _Right_ , comes the answer and Kuroo shakes his head. Stubborn, Yaku is that kind, but then again so is he. Kuroo smiles, fondness crawling up his skin until it itches on his fingertips and burns on the back of his neck.

“You are not the type for self-punishment,” he ends up saying. Instead of _shut up, you were amazing_. Or something more sentimental like, _we wouldn’t be here without you_. Or the most worrisome: _if you say that again, I’m gonna kiss you right_.

Yaku squints at him, cocks an eyebrow and answers with a sigh: “Guess I’m not.” And then there’s a smile blooming rightly so on his lips, it reaches his eyes and cleans the lines of worry off his face. It’s blinding. Kuroo would look away if he didn’t feel like it isn’t just the stadium floating but himself. Yaku bites his lip then and adds as an afterthought: “Well done, _captain_ ”.

Kuroo steps forward. His right leg first, then the left and then he kneels, one hand on Yaku’s shoulder. Lev sprints away, Kuroo barely noticing how he embraces Kenma back on the court, and it’s just the two of them. Kuroo hesitates. He doesn’t move his hand, its weight on Yaku’s shoulder, suddenly small and terse and so cold in comparison to Kuroo’s burning body.

“Can I lift you up?” Yaku blinks at him, uncomprehending. “ _We_ need to line up.”

“Oh? _Oh_.” Yaku burns then. A different kind of heat that only reaches his cheeks, soft pink in embarrassment. Kuroo thinks maybe he should kiss him anyway; perhaps that will stop him from feeling like shouting all the time. Yaku’s warning comes a little delayed, without much force: “Don’t you dare.”

Kuroo feels the laughter build up in slow motion; he finds the resulting sound coarse and crocked. Yaku glares at him, torn between looking away and killing him on the spot, just by the force of his stare. Kuroo looks towards the court; Kenma is waiting on the sideline, while Kai talks to the referee. Time ticks but Kuroo can’t feel its pressure as he turns back to Yaku again. His expression hasn’t softened but Kuroo’s grip on his shoulder has.

“I’m not lining up without you.”

Two can play stubborn, and he flops down by Yaku’s side. The other boy gapes at him, and Lev’s calls reach them like muffled background noise. Kenma’s sort of annoyed, sort of fond smile is harder to ignore but Kuroo doesn’t move.

“You are going to get us disqualified, Kuroo,” Yaku reasons with him, shaking his head like he can’t believe he has to put up with this― _with him_. Kuroo slides his hand down Yaku’s back until it rests just above his shorts. He feels rather than hear when the other boy sighs. “Okay, but we are never mentioning this again. Like, ever.”

“I won’t,” he promises. It’s half of what Yaku wants, but it’s all Kuroo can offer.

Naoi-san is there before Kuroo starts to move, a knowing look thrown their way. He helps Kuroo lift Yaku on his back. He makes sure he doesn’t hurt his foot with the movement or by hitting anything. Kuroo appreciates it, too distracted by the pressure of Yaku against him.

“You let me fall and it’ll be the death of you, Kuroo,” Yaku warns. His arms are tight against his neck and his mouth tickles against his ear when he speaks, breath warm and intimate. Kuroo shivers; he wonders briefly if Yaku will understand why or misplace his reaction with fear, but he doesn’t have to wait long to know. “ _Now, move_.” Yaku’s voice is low and so intentional in its intonation that Kuroo actually considers dropping him there and then, if not for his injured foot.

“You bastard.”

He can guess at the smug smile on Yaku’s lips as he moves towards the rest of the team and lines up with them. The entire stadium is looking at them, clapping, and Kuroo can feel the scream tight in his throat boil up again. It feels big even in the smallness of it, this win and this match: there’s a promise hiding behind the end line where they stand. Yaku is heavy on his shoulders, coming to life when the formalities end and the team cheers fill every breathing space.

“We are going to Nationals,” Yaku whispers into his ear, soft and warm and promising.

He wants to scream, or maybe kiss him, or spin around until they fall on the floor and Yaku scoffs at him for being ridiculous childish and reckless; or better yet― a combination of all three. Instead, he simply says: “Yes _we_ are.”


End file.
